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BY JAMES W. JONES. The Southern Whig, ftftILISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TERMS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the fii st number, or four dollars if not paid within the year. Sub scribers living out of the State, will be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. Jfo subscription received for less than one year, unless the money is paid in advance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, except at the option of tl;e, pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, ■* settement of their accounts. &UVERTISBMENTS will be inserted at the usual Yates; when the number of insertions is not specified, they will be continued until ordered out. All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishment, must be post paid in order to secure attention Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty day's previous to the day of sale. The sale of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court j nf Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty days and Letters of Dismission, six months. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. S 2/5 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 32a Four Months Notices, 4 00 ,Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 2a Sales of Land or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 oO Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of sinoll type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, and 50 cents for each weekly continuance. If published every other week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. 11 published once a month, it will be charged each time as a new advertisement. For a single insertion, 81 00 per square. BOOK BINDERY, THE subscriber would respectfully inform the Citizens of Athens and the public gen erallv, that he has established himself in the third" Story of Mr. Teney’s Book Store, imme diately over the Southern Whig Office, where work will be executed lit the shortest notice in all the various branches of his business. Blank Books made of all Sizes and Ruled to any given f' 1 ""- J. C. F. CLARK. Athens, Sept. 23, —21—ts NEW DRY GOODS AND GROCERY STORE. THE undersigned having removed to the up per tenement of the New brick range, next below the Ware-House of Stovall, Simmons, & Co., are now receiving a fresh, and general assortment of mnr© 0010 s, SAre*, and Groceries, recently purchased at the North, chiefly for Cash, at reduced prices;—all of which they offer low, and respectfully invite * call from those who may be in market, believ ing that such inducements will be offered, as to secure a liberal share of the patronage of the public. STOVALL & IIAMLEN. Augusta, September 9,1837. (XJrTheir Wholesale Dry Good Establismcnt is in the second story—over the Grocery. Sept. 16,—20 —2m businessT AUGUSTA, GA. £<TOVALL, SIMMONS, & Co., in rxpress fsing their gratitude to their patrons, for their continued confidence, and generous support, would renew the oiler of their services in the Factorage and Commission business, at their Fire Proof Ware-House, South side Broad street. Liberal advances will be made on Cotton, &c -Ace, as heretofore. Sept. 16,—20—2m JW. JONES, is now receiving and open . ing at his Store, his supplies of fall <sl winter goods, which combine! with his former Stock, render his assortment very complete. English Straw Bonnots. A case ofhandsoinc English Straw and Florence Bonnets, just received and for sale, bv J. W. JONES. Oet. 14,-24—tf &SGRO SHOESS, 300 pairs Superior Negro Shoes for sale by J. W. JONES. Oct. 14,—24—t f Bargains! Bargains !! THE Subscriber offers the following proper ty at private Sale, in the Town of Athens, consisting of 3 Houses and Lots, suitable for large oi>small families, nine head of Horses, one four-wheel close Carriage, one large Barouche, one Tilberry, one single horse Buggy, and one Dearborn wagon, also two Road-Wagons. The above property will be sold very low for Cash, orona short credit. Those wishing to pur chase any, or all, of the above named property, will do well to call and examine for themselves, as I am determined to sell. JAMES WITTER. Oct. 14,—23—4t N. B. I will also hire ont horses during the vacation on reasonable terms, Carriages and horses to hire as usual until sold. J. W. Southern Chig. IWmnaneous. From the Knickerbocker. OCfOBJFiK. . Solemn, yet beautiful to view Month of my heart! thou dawnest hero, With sad and faded leaves to strew The summer's melancholy bier. The moaning of thy winds I hear, As the red sunset dies afar. And bars of purple clouds appear. Obscuring every western star- Th°u solemn month ! I hear thy voice— It tells my soul of other days, When but to live was to rejoice— When earth was lovely to my gaze ! Oh, visions bright—oh, blessed hours. Where are their living raptures now t I ask my spirit’s wearied powers— I ack my pale and fevered brow I I look to Na'.urf't find behold My life's dim emblems, rustlinii round, In hues of crimson and of gold— The year's dead honours on the ground; And sighing with the winds I feel, While their low pinions murmur by, How much their sweeping tones reveal Oflife and human destiny. When Spring’s uelights-anie moments shone _ They came in zephyrs from the West, — They bore the wood-lark's melting tone, They stirred the blue lake’s glassy breast; Through Summer, fainting in the heat, They lingered in the forest shade; But ehanged and strengthened now, they beat In storm, o'er mountain glen and glade. Now like those transports of the breast When life is fresh and joy is new — Soft as the halcyon’s downy nest, And transient all as they are true ! They stir the leaves in that bright Wreathe, Which hope about her forehead twines, Till Griefs hot sighs around it breathe — Then Pleasure’s lip its smile resigns. Alas, for Time, and Death, and care.— What gloom about our way they fling ? Like clouds in Autumn's gusty air. The burial pageant of the Spring. The dreams that each successive year Seem bathed in hues of brighter pride, At last like withered leaves appear, And sleep in darkness, side by side. Philadelfkia. W. G. C. From Blackwood’s Magazine for September, Nffy Auejl’v Tale. [concluded.] “M y dear mamma !” I observed one morn ing, taking up a card which lay on the table, ‘■where have you picked up such an aristo. cratic acquaintance ? Phoebus, what a name ! 1 Mr. Jocob II tggins, “Street, Cam- berwell I’ Where in lite name of horror, is Camberwell ?” •• The acquaintance annoys me more than 1 can tell,” replied my mother, “ but peculiar circumstances render it necessary. Mr. Hug >ins is a titan who has made an immensity of money in the iron, or the linen trade—l forget which ; and is some connexion (extremely dis tant) of ours. Fortunately for us, the man has i large share of the vulgar admiration for rank and title, and, I have every reason to believe, will make us his heirs, if it’ were only for the posthumous satisfaction of being described in the newspapers as having left the bulk of his splendid fortune to his cousin, Sir Francis Hargood, Bart., &c. &c.,and we are not in a condition to surrender such a prospect for the sake of a mere prejudice of fashion. I shall, therefore, be obliged to show them some civil ities—perhaps to submit to some in return— but 1 shall take very good care not to bring them tn the way of our own coterie. I have just sent them an invitation to dine here, en famille, on Thursday next? but, if you desire it, you need not show yourself, and 1 can make an excuse for your non-appearance.” “ On Thursday next ?—what a bore ! Young Fred, de Tracy asked leave to call, and I had intended to let hint stay dinner, as he had just returned from the Continent, and may be amus ing in the character of Travelled Monkey ! but here is your messenger returned. Let us sec what Mr, Huggins means to do.” The foolman here entered, bearing a note ' folded exactly square, and evidently, from the | jagged edges which had been wetted to facil tate the separation, written on half a sheet of foolscap, reduced, by no means mathematically, to the proper dimensions. The address was thus worded:— “ To Lady F, Hargood, Earless, “ Grosccnor Square, London." and the contents rati thus : “ My dear Lady, “Your note to ask self and husband to dine with you on Thursday, the 15,h mrtance, was received sate, and much obliged. An invita tion from our friend, Mr. John Lewis, Broad Street, City, also for same day, came in just at ! the very identical moment with your Ladyship, I and by chance was first opened by husband, who always opens the notes whoever they are. He thinks it most honorable and justest to ac cept the one first come to hand, and goes to City accordingly, bidding me write and hope not to offend. It is regular customary on him to give preference to first comer—as your Ladyship knows—first come first served ; and, ;in course, Mr. Lewis is the tnan. Husband snys, if not going anywhere else, or to Opera, he shall be much pleased nt seeing you and Miss Mary to dine,on Saturday next, nt half past four in the family, way, winch also hopes, “My Lady, your loving cousin, •• Sali.y-H uggins.” “How vexatious!” observed my mother, putting on one of her looks of co .centrated misery. I “Os course you go,” said I, “it will be high ly amusing I” | “I see no escaping it, without offending i them,” she replied, “and that I do tint wish to do. So you may write to accept in m\ name, Mary.” The nppoined day arrived,and we had reach ed a dirty green gate, with a plate thereon, in scribed “Jeremiah Huggins, Esq." before 1 had well made up my mind what to expect ii. the persons of my “lining cousins.” A sur vey of the surrounding domestic arrangements, on alighting from the carriage, was any thing but prepossessing. The little green gale, which had a most oyster-'ike aversion tube ing opened, led us into a Court of about four yards square, traversed on one side by an ir regularly-paved footway leading to the house i . -Z.Z.i-ZJV--- —•—-- — “WlitlßE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHT 1 Ut. REMEDY. loor, and on 4 hc other by a narrow line of mud, from whence some miserable hollyhocks peer ed up, in dirty dandyism, from amid a hum bier canaille oi bachelor’s-buttons, poppies, and sweet-william. In the centre was a raised bed of soil, which I at first took for a dirt-pie, some sportive Jett d'esprit of my young cousins, but which was afterwards pointed out to me as the abode of future rose-trees, a secret which, for any outward and visible sign thereof, must have been solely in the keeping oi Heav en and Mrs. Sally Huggins. The door was opened to us by a staid mat ron in a red and yellow chintz gown and a black silk apron, 'whom I at first suppjsed to be, from her scorched faca and tucked-up sleeves, the priitta donnd c? the kitchen : but. the courtsey, dropped in honor of the “ Bartess, was succeeded by an embrace to the ‘cousin, which there was no mistaking, and a truly fiery kiss bestowed on myself dispelled at once my lingering doubt on the subject. By this fair Hebe we were ushered into the drawingroom, which presented a coup d'ceil such as I had never before witnessed. A very small fire, defended by a fender at least three feet high, was wholly surrounded by some men in rusty black coats and various colored trowsers, whose voices were raised in a confused dm, which seemed to set eVefy principle of eti quette at defiance. The ladies were crowded up in a corner —the old ones lost in some weigh ty gossip, the young looking at the gentlemen and tittering, while a few, still more juvenile, were seated bolt upright with their hands be fore them, much in the attitude of the Egyp tian statues in the British Museum. Above the mantle-piece was hung an immensa sam pler, with a centre-piece of Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit:—Adam was a small, duck-legged man, done in bright pink, with yellow eyes; Eve a douce, comfortable look-' in<r body, also in bright pink, whose looks ex pressed infitite satisfaction with the flavor of an apple which she held to her lips- His Sa tanic Majesty had also his due honors, being h ippily hit-off as a large green snake gravely seated on his tail, with a sentimental inclina ( lion of the head so irresistibly insinuating, as 1 almost to induce one to forgive the frailty of | our great ancestress, in considering the im mensity of the temptation. Beneath were the following lines, which were pointed out to me as the original composition of the matron I Huggins in her twelfth year : I “ This is Adam’aad Eve, who took into their hand ( The forbidden apple, against God’s command, i And ate the apple ; which if they had not done, They would still have been alive every one. But Satan tempted ’.he woman, and she took unto the man, And he did cat. —Deny it if you can I Sarah Horner, — her making." On each side of this interesting memorial was a drawing, with the same name attached to it: —the one representing a bridge, which would have afforded great interest to Sir John Rennie, being decidedly a skew one—the other , a smafl animal with long ears, described as a pet lamb—but excepting a very sheepish look, bearing little resemblance to that emb>- m oi innocence. One side of the room was oCcu. pied by an ancient sideboard, whereon Were displayed various and strange specimens of white atid blue china, disposed around in an immense j ipan tea-tray with a yellow pagoda painted on it; the other rejoiced tn a dilapi dated harpsichord, the cast-off victim of some third-rate boarding-school, on which lay a fiddle with one string, vi hose cracked sounding-board would have forbidden its use, even if Paganini ’ himself had been there to prove it. ; Whi'e still engaged in my scrutiny, a cou j pie of feidi g-doors were flung open at one I end of the room, throwing down two ladies in I yellow turbans i:i their sweep, and propelling [ a y Midi, whom 1 ha i not before observed, with ‘ some violence Inwards nr-, so as almost to . t endauger the safety of my chair, which was j not, by any means, as steady as I could have wished. Imagining him to be some “nice. I youii" man,” the attorney’s or the surgeon’s I assistant, I should scarcely have looked up in i acknowledging the bow with which he apolo ! gized for the accident, had not a superior re ! finemerit of dress from that of the barbariatfs [ around me. caught my eye and induced me to ' favor him with a full glance. He blushed ; i when he met my gaze—again bowed, and re , treated towards a group of ladies to offer his i arm to a plain-lookitt. l girl in black, who seem- I cd, somehow, as if she had expected the atten i tion—and they moved away towards the dining. ! room which the folding-doors had discovered to the faVenous gaZe of the guests. I thought I had never seen a more expressive counte nance I the features were not exactly regu- ' lar, for the forehead was far too high in pro ! portion to the rest of the face ; but, being all j fine, there was that harmony among them— ; the harmony which exists between all things noble —which is far more striking than mere mathematical regularity. The eyes were deep set, and of a liquid black, the nose high and aquiline, and the mouth small, yet not too small—and with an expression ofgrave thought, almost melancholy, lingering around it. The ! complexion was ol alight, transparent olive, ! save the lofty which was of dazzling ! whiteness, and thrown into relief by the ni s isesofdark chesnut hair which curled boldly ! around it. I thought I had never seen so expressive a face!—to different from the one idea’d countenances which crowded around me at L-.dy B.’s and Mrs. S.’s, and the Duke ofL.s’! —so different Irom Lord Arthur Tre. vclvan and his shadowy host of Imitators! I i was hulfaegry w ith myselffor feeling so much i interested. My thoughts, hewever, were in j ternip'ed bv the approach of the sedate matron 1 of the house, accompanied by a young man in a blue coat with gilt buttons, adorned with an imme se nosegay of dahlias, which might have formed a centre-piece at a Lord Ma yot’s feast —a crimson velvet waistcoat with an immen sity of gold chain, and a pair of very light i pantaloons, perfectly new, and shining like (court-plaster:—the wretch also wore large [topaz studs, carried tn opera-hat under his i arm, and a gold-tipped riding whip in his hand, with which he ever and anon tapped the heel of his boot. “ Let me introduce the Hon. Mr. Fitzmaer, to you, Miss! said my loving cousin, taking my hand : ‘ he is a very genteel young man. dearj’she whispered, ‘ and knows all the grand 1 quality—a sun of John Viscount Dillon ot’Dil. lon Hall—you must have heard ot him.’ I had heard the name as that of a htattyu.’s sujet. of the worst description—a man without an atom of ch sracter, and who went nowhere except to such places ns a certain Lady Tich. b< rite’s, and there all the foxes had lost their tails. But there was no escaping, and I re. taint'd his fumdinr nod and impertinent stare with hs stiff a bo’v us possible, and took his arm to the di< i; grcom without replying to his refined observation 1 W’e slinll hve a ATHEXS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1837 ous spread, Miss Hargooi*—see if we don’t! — old Huggins don’t spare the shiners.’ Such a dinner table ! at the top an enor mous tureen of pea-soup—at the bottom a whole cod—the centre a huge bowl of oyster sauce, flanked with dishes innumerable of po tatoes, turnips, carrots, &c.—all Convent Gar den seemed to have transferred itself to Mr. Huggin’s table! Then came the clatter of spoons, the jingle of glasses, the bustling of the hostess, and the take-it-easy nonchalance of the two women-servants, the pressing of the gen tlemen, and the coquetting of the ladies, the spluttering of the scalded and the tittering of the unscalded ; altogether it was a scene “ to dream of, not to tell” —and that dream might, well be classed among the genius night-mare —Fitzmaer the leading character. The tact displayed by our stately hostess edified me much. A poor girl, in a constant, blush, seated near her, evidently little accus tomed to the delicacy of pea-soup, had just with unabated ardor raised the first spoonful of her third help to her expectant lips, when Mr. Huggins, addressing * bis loving wife’ from the lop of the table, exclaimed ‘my dear! let me send you some more soup?’ ‘Li! Mr. IL’ answered his fair spouse, with great iadig nation, “ d’you think I’d be so voolgar as to take two elps of soup?’—the first spoonful of the third help remained suspended in mid air —the deep blush became * deeper and deeper still,’ the half-opened lips were closed with a heart-rending sigh, and the third help was surrendered, untouched, to the eager grasp of the delighted servant —her lawful perquisite. “ Etiquette !’’ I mentally observed, ‘ behold not the least faithful of your votaries!’ It being the first time I had ever tasted pea. soup, and not finding it particularly adapted to my palate, I amused myself with taking a sur vey of the beings seated around me. At the right hand of my hest. and occupying his chief attention, sat a lady whom I could not at all make out. She was what might be called a handsome—very handsome —woman, but of a very large size, and rouged a Toutrance. She was dressed in the very extreme of fashion, and in the richest manner possible, but without displaying one particle.of taste in costume. — Her robe of green velvet was spoilt by immense wreaths of crimson roses twined around it, and the splendid ernorald which flashed in her zone w*s rendered frightful by the sickly glare efthe yellow topazes which were plentifully disposed around it. A blue satin turban, also adorned with a topaz aigrette, and looking as if it had been arranged rather by a jockey than a lady’s maid, completed the dress and my amazement: —she seemed as if she had undertaken to prove how much bad taste may be displayed in a given space—certainly she had ‘ ample room and verge enough’ whereon to solve the problem. Next to her was a little shrivelled woman in yellow, with a pinched-up mouth and nose to match. The rest of that side of the table being occupied by some ju venile nonentities, some with large eyes, some small—some with pink cheeks, Some white— but ail agreeing in red elbows. I was soon obliged—lrom lack of any thing else—to recur again to the faCe which before had so much interested me, and again to conjecture who and what its owner could be. Just as I had erntne to the determination to manoeuvre an introduction, in order to satisfy my curiosity, the male by my side, who had all this while been silently doing justice to “Old Hoggin’s spread,’’raised up his eyes from a very delapi dated leg of a turkey which lay before him, and turning to me, with something very like a wink, exclaimed—‘Miss Hargood ! —glass of wine T Compassionating the man, who had evident, ly never been in lady’s society before, I did not refuse, and went through the ceremony ac cordingly. ‘Of course you know Ladj’ Tichbourne!’ continued the Honorable. “I have not that—pleasure,” I replied, with some emphasis. “Not know Lady T-! —well I vow, I thought every body knowed Lady T., nobs and snobs, as we used to say at school : A charming woman, Lady T.. so full of fun—-ilp to snuff! ha !ha! ha ! Gad ! when she’s got the catn pagne in her she’ll jump about like a two.year old filly, and no mistake ! none of your mincing mewling, puling girls, what can’t walk to t’other end of the room without fainting by the way, and *hll that gamtno ! And then the dresses! my eye—-I do call that something like ! —did you ever see a woman better dress ed, Miss Hargood?” “1 never have seen Lady Tichbourne.” “Never seen her! Lord love you! what have those pretty eyes been about? don’t you see that splendid woman sitting next old Hug gins at top yonder?— she's Lady T. and no mistake!” The blue turban !—there could be no mistake there. I wondered I had net gassed her by intuition. “And who is that lady next her?” asked I, determined to make my companion usc.ul, if he could not be agreeable, “Oh that! —that’s ol 1 mother Jenkins, the ironmonger’s widow. She’s got lots of tin, but is so cursed close ! I’d b;;t sixpence new, that yellow gown has been altered to meet fifty new fashions before to-night! Now, that’s what I call d d shabby, don’t you, Miss? Money was made to be spent, and them ns don’t spend it, don’t merit it—that’s my maxim I” “Very true!” replied I,‘and who’s that girl in black, sitting at the bottom of the table?’ 1 had reasons for asking this question—it was the girl the dark-eyed youth had taken »n his arm. “ What, she with the napkin to Iter peepers?” “ That girl in black, with the white hand kerchief in her hand at this moment,” I said, not understanding his dialect. “Uncommonly ugly! ain’t she?” “Rather plain!” said I, with some impa tience, “who is she, pray ?” “ She was got by Surgeon Price out of Sukey Jenkins, the old yellow lady’s voung ’tin, Mrs. Surgeon Price that is. She’s goi ! gto be splic ed,” added the wretch, sticking his tongue in his cheek, and giving me tiwit.k. “ That young lady is about to bo married?” I said, somewhat hastily, feeling a strange sen sation come oVef me. “Ay!—that’s the ticket! spliced to parson Allan’s son—him in the black toggery —you can’t see him, he’s on our side. Some of the women call him interesting and all that—but I say he’s a chicken, one of your softies who shirks a spree, a flat; a regular fl it ! —not a man for my money; eh! Miss Hargood!— I like a fellow who can knock about iiis lives now and ‘.hen—kick lip a tow arid kick down a break-up to suutf, ch, Miss Hargood !” Having now acquired all the information I wished from my refined companioti, I did not choose to answer this interesting appeal, and betook myself, accordingly, to the society of my own thoughts. Strange! that I should feel so interested in one to whom I had nevei yet spoken ; who had expressed no interest in me! I, wli.i had received witit indifference the homage of the richest, the handsomest, the noblest! 1, who had smiled an incredulous smile as I listened to their vows of lov., and protestations of affection ! 1, who had closed with a yawn the second volume of the “ Bride of Lamtnermoor,” which all the world had •sat up all night, to read through !’ I, in short, whs had declared only two days ago, that love was meant for servant maids and boarding school misses! who had quizzed my cousin Emily for sighing when her fiance lelt the room ; who had dismissed my favorite waiting maid because I dougbted the possibility of a person making herself useful and kicsing the footman at the same time ; who had assigned Cupid his throne within the folds of a valen tine, and limited the range of his arrows to the far corner of a com ty ball room ! ‘ Oh, and I, forsooth, in love!’ But was lin love ? I looked at the girl in black, and thought that I hud never seen so odiously plain and vulgar a creature ! And was it possible he could have made such a choice? No, no! It was a forced match ! This surgeon, Price—what a name! —had made a fortune by poisoning some rich dowager’s lap dog!—but no!—how stu pid I was! it was all quite plain! He had married Miss Jenkins, the rich ironmonger’s only child—l hid -Mr. Fitzmaer’s authority f>r it—and she was to inherit all the ironmon ger’s riches ; and the plain girl—the odious ly plain girl, in black, was her only child, and would inherit from her: What could be more clear ? Aid then the clergyman, Allan—a trie old name! —was very poor, with a very ma uceuvremg wife, and she had forced her son into a match with the rich ironmonger’s grand child, who was to inherit the rich iromnoa- i ger’s riches ; and he, poor fellow ! had resist ed as long as he could, but his poor sick father ■looked ir.to his face till his heart was like to break,’ and he. turned away, and wept, and consented. Yes! I understood it all in a mo ment ! I had the whole scene before me. What a beautiful tableau vicant!— th 2 venera ble, grey-headed old man, with his look of half-resigned, half-reproachful calmness at the scanty comforts uround: and the beautiful, noble bov, —his fine eyes filled with gushing tears as he gazed on the aged wreck before him, and thought how a word ot his might give all the luxuries and comforts winch sotten the rude touch of time—and there the sharp, cun ning features of the gaunt, tawdrily-dressed mother, as she urged on him the wants of ano ther, while she thought but of her own. Oh ! papa must positively give Hamilton an orcter, and I’ll hang it up in my dressing room—it will make a sweet picture ! But, in the mean time, was he to be thus sacrificed ? No! that he should not he. Sooner than that I’d marry hitn myself, poor as we both are. An intro duction I shall Contrive immediately, and it wii! be hai'd if I cannot manage to win his heart before our carriage comes—l wishes mamma had ofdered it at eleven instead of ten. Here my reveries were interrupted by loud shuffling of feet, ai d cries of “ silence ! si fence !” Our host had got up to make a speech. Mr. /fuggins was a very little man, with a ve ry red face, and on this occasion it was doub ij so; a circumstance which called forth this exquisite bit of wit from the Honorable Mr Fitzmaer, who gave me a poke with his elbow, and said— ‘l say, Miss Hargood, you’ve read Shaks psare ?—look ye ! —a speech is a thing to ‘make the green tin red,’ eh, Miss Hargood! good, ain’t it? ha! ha! ha! Now go it, Huggins! hear, hear, as we say in the House.” ‘ Gentlemen and ladies !’ began Mr. Hug gins, in great trepidation, ‘ I rise on this—l rise gentlemen and ladies ! [immense applause] gentlemen and ladies, [hear bear] I rise or; this hintefesting occasion to congratulate my self, gentlemen and ladies! [great sensation] to congratulate myself and you on the hobjects around me ! (loud cheers) Gentlemen and la dies, I am now three-score summers and ten, and my beloved—my fair—my aged—['no, no,’ from the gentlemen,] I ask your pardon, my fair, my beloved partner is one year older than me, (great agitation amongyt the ladies) she has shared with me all my inflictions, la dies—whether good, bad, oi* hindifierent— ( cheers) —like a being —an hanimal of neither earth nor eaven. [lmmense applause.] Her voice has soothed me like the music of the spears. [Hear, hear, and cries of (beautiful!’ from some ladies at the bottom of the table.] Like the music of the spears, genflemen! and ladies. [Loud cheers.] What, then, gentle men, must be my feelings on this overpower ing occasion? what must bo my sympathies, my adhibitions, my contemplations, in short, what d’ye think I’m driving at, ladies and gen tlemen? [Sensation.] Gentlemen, in that love ly, that accomplished woman. [-Oh la, Mr. H.!’ from Mrs. Huggins, and loud cheers from the gentlemen.] In that woman, gentlemen, I be- i hold the model and personify of Iler delectable sex, [thunders of applause] and therefore, gentlemen and ladies —[hear, hear] —no, not the ladies, that won’t do by tho way—[JouJ cheers] —I say therefore, gentlemen, let each man fill his glass to the brim to the Fair Sex [immense applause]—those comforters under inflictions’ as the old song snys, gentlemen, 'Woman, lovely woman.’ [Unbounded cheer ing, accompanied by a loud bray from the Hon. Mr. Fitzmaer—l suppose also an im portation from the House.] Ere the excitement caused by this most elo quent speech had subsided, a little dapper man in a blue silk neckcloth, yellow waistcoat, and nankeen inexpressibles; fuse with a consequen tial hem, and was received with vociferated cheers. I soon perceived that this was the orator of the assembly, by the “ready present” j attitude assumed by the guests in order to be in full time with the necessary cheers. The I little man, after settling the blue silk neckcloth, [ and casting a bland look around him, thus com- I ttienccd: “Ladies and gentlemen, [loud ch-crs] unac- i customed as I am to public speaking, I cannot ! deny myself the felicity of rising to congratu late you on your good fortune in having just listened th so able a speech as that delivered by my estimable friend, and our generous host, Jacob Huggins. ‘ [Great applause.] Ladies ! and gentlemen, these are dark and awful times! [sensation] ladies nn<l gentlemen, I am but an j humble individual, [hear; hear,] I sav every Englishman, ladies and "entleme:’, is entitled . to think tor himself! [Loud cries of‘liettr i hear.’] Is not this a free country? [immense 1 applause] let them ans wer mo that! Is not ' this the land of liberty? [Loud cheers.] Am i I a slave? are tre all slaves? [‘No! no!’ and > immense cheering, all the company rising.] 1 Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for that I xyord. No? wo arc not slaves! we are freer' ; tnorl —we are Englishmen ! [Thunders of np j pluuse.] Ladies and gentlemen, lam an hum ble individual! [hear, hear,] but humble as I am, when I see our liberties trampled on, our privileges as Christians, our privileges as Eng lishmen, [immense cheering] despised and con troverted, then, ns a man, as a Christian, as tin Englishman, I lift up my voice in thunder against the sacrilegious traitors! [great sensa tion.] I curse them! I despise them! I turn from them! I loathe them! [immense cheering.] ! Gentlemen, I have done, [hear, hear,] my feeling' l overpower me! but I am deeply con scious that I cannot find a more adequate ex pression for my own feelings and yours, than in proposing the health and prosperity of our generous host— amo sum nilo uman, eh me! aley numb puto — [loud cheers,] a man, ladies and gentlemen, who cannot be better described than in the language of our great poet; — • Take hitn all together, We never can look upon any body like him again;’ and I can only reg r et that tliGpoffice has de volved on so humble an individual, and so wretched a speaker.” [Loud cries of‘no! no!’ and unbounded applause.] A great many more speeches followed, but the two I have given Were decidedly the gems of the evening. 1 thought we never should get away, but at length some very broad hints from the young Honorable beside me, fairly drove the ladies out of the room, and with a wretched headach I immediately set about bringing my love scheme (I must call it so) to maturity. With this view I determined to introduce myself to Miss Price, the girl in black, to at tach myself to her for the whole of the even ing, and thus obtain an opportunity of entering info conversation with young Allan, who would, of course, give all his attention to his fiancee. No sooner planned than executed! 1 found j her a simple, quiet, unpretending girl, without any apparent tnarkedtiess of character, or, in deed, any attraction beyond an amiable and unaffected manner. And what was this at traction but a negative one?—l considered Al. lan as already mine. His affection for such a girl could have nothing deep, nothing pas sionate in it! No! his was a mind made fora far higher mate. There was ambition in the glance of his eye, and the curl of his lip, and the lines of deep thought on his noble brow spoke him a dreamer and a refiner, The ties which bound him to that humble girl were bound while his spirit slept, I would aWaken him to the knowledge of himself, and he would spurn them like cobwebs as he rose in his new found vigor. As such thoughts as these chased each oth er rapidly acro>s my mind, I looked at the gentle creature who was seated so calmly and unsuspectingly beside me, and for a moment a pang shot through my breast. Could she really love him? Was that quiet nature capa ble of feeling tho might, the whirlwind might, of passion? If so. what misery, what anguish iasl preparing sos Irer ! perhaps the gnawing pangs of blighted affection, the dark apathy of 1 despair, the ravings ot madness—a broken heart! I shuddered at the thought? But it was hut for a moment! Allan had advanced io her side, and I watched the still lips, and the nlacid eye, and saw no smile play round the one, no beam of joy light up the other, and my purpose became fixed and indissoluble. My manoeuvres succeeded as I had antici pated, My acq aintance with his fiances opened the way for entering into Conversation with young Allan. I found him sliy and re served in manner, but remarkably graceful and refined; and there was at times a flashing forth ofenthusiasin when the subject interested him, which convinced me I had not been mis taken in my application of the principles of La vater. Wo were speaking of the life of a country clergvmin, o:i which I indulged in a great many common-places, not without an object •‘lt is a life,” I observed, addressing myself to him, “which appears to me one ot the most enviable! so removed from the stir and bustle of this noisy world! so limited in its troubles, vet so unbounded in its influence! raised above this earth in the sphere of its duties, yet within it in the exercise of them! it is an enviable life!” ••It is,” he replied, observing I looked at him; but I saw that the affirmative was yield ed more from modesty of his own opinions than in accordance With mine.. “I canrrnt imagine one more so!” I Contin ued, determined to draw him out. “What is /die brilliant career of the warrior, or the con. qtieror, Compared to the quiet, unostentatious, but useful, life of the country clergyman? the one is the dash, and the foam, and the roar, of tho cataract —fine and mighty child of the tempest and the flood, rendered more fierce and mighty by the rocks which oppose its course, scattering destruction, and terror, and awe, tn its wild sport, and flinging up i s spraj as ifit would dash it against the very face ot Heaven; the other is the gentle, unobserved streamlet, watering and filling with verdure, a thousand valleys, and giving food and health, and comfort to a thousand human beings!—ls not my simile a just one?” “It may be so!” he replied, his eye kindling as he spoke, “but let me be the cataract with its foam and its roar! let me fee! myself alone in the might of my grandeur: short though my career may be, let it bo the shortness of the . comet’s, which is gone ere man’s wonder has • time to cool. You smile, Miss Hargood! per- ' haps it is ridiculous for the son of a poor clergyman to speak thus,” he said, with some bitterness, “btit my feelings were too strong forme, and however little they may be under stood,” — and here he glanced at his fiancee, — • I cannot, ut times, restrain the expression of them.” He misunderstood my stnile—it was of tri umph ! ••There is nothing ridiculous,” I said, “in the outpourings of an aspiring mind—however cribb’d and babin’d for a while by Untoward circumstances, be assured such a mind will burst its shackles, like straw, when it feels its own strength; and lise from each new difficul ty, with new vigor—“like a giant refreshed!” —I spoke with energy and enthusiasm, for I felt as a prophetess, foretelling the high desti ny of the noble being before trie; “I am sure, Edward,” observed Miss Price, quietly, “a little reflection will convince you your ideas are wrong.” Edward ! —what a bcautifl.il name ! —I long ed to call him Edward. In the course of Conversation I discovered that his father had been curate of a village not far from Asblou Park; and immediately remem bered that he had heard me my catechism pre vious to my being Confirmed. This was quite suilicienl to preface an invitation to Grosvenor Square, which was immediately given arid ac-1 ccpted; and I left the arms of ri£yJ.‘WVing Cott's, sin,” fully persuaded that I had never spent so , delightful an evening in the course of my life* Vol. V—No. 29. “My pbof child !” s-id riiy mottief; US I en tered ths Carriage, “what must your sufferings have beeh!” ♦ My riibtlier was too Confident of tn« nfrii . root Which she imagiued the principles she Dud instilled in me had taken to feel any uneasi ness frorti the visits of the son of a poof VlElfj and even if she had done so; tile birtumstance of his hand being already plighted wouln havri dispelled it. But she did not—the idea never | for a moment oc rred to her, she Would as soon have occupied her attention with Jack the Giant-killer, or the Arabian Tales ! —disin» terested afleCtion Was to her as much a fictiort as any ot those amusing fables, and the thought ■ of such a thing in a child of hers was too mon- ■ strous to find place for a moment. HoW Well I remembered when these were my own ideas! and how [ despised them now ! Itt not ex actly despised ; I did not dare yet to go so far even in thought—blit I had often caught my self disputing their accuracy, and calling into question their tendency to promote happiness. Already had 1 read the Bride of Larntttefltttxrf twice over, and I looked upon Lucy A'shtort as a verv Weak girl!—— * t Would not have act ed thus!’ I thought, as 1 closed the mournful tale, and sank into reverie; and as I thought, the image of Edward would recur to me, and hoW like he was to the proud and noble Ravens wood ! And then how like, hoW fearfully like —my mother was to he haughty Lady Ashton! And was I like Lucy? the weak Lucy? Oil no, ‘ I would not have acted thus,’ I again re< peated, aloud and with energy, ns it the firm ness of my voice was to give strength to my resolution. In the meamwhile rriy charms had thclf (istfo al success. How nav heart bounded with fnp' tare, as I observed the timid glances <>t love, the increasing reserve, the softening voice, and the reverential manner of rriy young ndtfliref. ‘ Yes,’ I often thought, -this ig indeed a trea sure worth the winning. What were th« mines of Istakar in comparison with such ts heart, so nob!#, so spotless, so devoted.’ Alas ! it struck me not how soon that bright dream might be dispelled. I took no note of the sterri barrisr stretched between me and him, I dreamt not of the anguish I was heaping up to fall on the heads of both. I knew not that I was twining tendrils around my own heart, but to be torn bleeding from its Cnre—that I was weaving the tissue of my Own Woes !— 1 that I w as barbing the shaft of my own dcstnie, tion ! and he too ! i could have borne with tha sorrows which touched but mvself— but that he, whom I loved so fondly, bear Witness, Heaven ! for thou alone knowest how fondly ! —that he, should be condemned to such pangs, condemned too by me ! by me; who would have died—joyfully died—to save hitn the an guish of a moment! it was too mach I lot I live, I still live ! There Was another, a humbler heart, tots, which was involved in the ruin I had prepar« ed. As I was driving up Bugent ?tfetel in art open carriage, Edward (1 called hitn Edward now) seated by my side, aud engaged in a very animated conversation with me, 1 observed him suddenly become pale and then red, as he bowed, with a very embarrassed air, Co sflffio one on the causeway : Not without a twinge ofjealousy, I instantly endeavored to discover, amid a crowd of pedestrians, who it Was who had excited such emotion in my Edward. I had not long to lose myself in conjecture. Ne ver shall I forget the look of anguish Which distorted the plain features of Susan Price (I recognised her immediately) as she glanced for a moment at our gay equipage ad it darted along the smooth street; it was but a ttloment, for she caught my eye, and turned away With a proud gesture which stung me to the quick. But it was not then that that look brought an guish to my breasts No! I turned lightly away, and even smiled as I hutnmed the old air— ‘ Why let the stricken deer go Weep!’ for prosperity had hardened my heart. But when that breast was the dWeliing-place of re morse ; the bitter home of wo—tie expression of that face, writhing in the intensity of itd anguish would r cur again and again to my startled imaginatio >, and I shuddered ns I thought that my own misery was a jnst, yet a feeble, retribution for the pangs I had Sri Wan toi Iv inflicted on a heart, us true and far more deserving than my own ! Need 1 tell yon, my oW.i Fanny! hoW those godlike visions were destroyed ? Do not ask me to repeat to you that dfettdful scene, When it mother.—forgetting all the ties of nature-, of kindred, ofaft'ectimi; raised her voice to curso her child, her first born child ! how my spir. its shrank, appalled, from those awful wonk, and I lav, for days, senseless aud rriolih .less, under the fierce struggle between death and life! And ask me tioi for him. Would t<i Heaven lie had died ! Gilt Heaven willed it not. Fur him Was reserved a darker doom j for me a deeper despair ! I saw him biit oiiCj again; he knew me not! That noble tumtl hud fled from its beauteous tenement, and [ heard but the iiicoliere.it ravings of a mans, cled idiot! And how I longed; you, even prayed ! tn join him in that fearful cell • —to sear off from my brain the memory of the past, even if the scorching iron were left to seelhn for ever in tho furrows 4 h id ploughed up ! But it njjght not be ! I fulfilled a jnster doom. I have seen the vanities; which were theVefV food of my former existence, leave m-; an ob. ject of scorn aud derision t I have see i friend ship and affec’ion wither itnd die rut nd n't}* path! 1 have watched ffie bright compnniot.s of my youthful years sink, < ne by noo. into the grave lamented n:id forgotten; lik ■ lights which have gone ot t and left da k less but fur a moment, till their place Was the place of an other! I have s en the eyes Which have smil ed on mo glazed With the dark h ind of death ; ifie lips that have spoken words of love, cold and sons less to my kiss; —the hands that have blessed me, mot io ..less and unyielding to mv warm pressure ; and what have I to do with life? For trie it has no joys—even affliction has lost its sting ’ a id I gaze listl<.*ssiy arotuxl me, shunned by all, an l avoiding all, like a be ing whose pan is finished an this restlcs-t stage—who is felt to be an i ,tn» ier—a gue.-t who his overstayed his welcome time! —Nay ; do not weep—my fir child ! You have not deserted the wretched old hag in her wretchedness:’ —1 h ;ve one blessing sti.l reserved in that bright smile an I geufe voic<; and heaven will r. ward \ on, my chid! fr your kind.>ess to the “Weary and heavy I iden,” Heaven will bless you, as Hetfvbn al ine ctt.t bless and reward. And when this tired soul Iras found the fest Which it foftgs to win, yoit will not scoff at the rnmttofy at the withered “Old Maid” —you will remember th sad his tory yon have this night he tr<l—and you wid think of her us cue whose faults were father of tho head than-<?f the heart—as one- who Was the victim of a nxsguidcd youth and perverted I mind—as one whose, failings were the failings 1 of a woman-—"ho lured—“not wiswly» but I too well 1”